Heart of Gold
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: [Kinktober 2017 series 11: Orgasm Denial] It is with more than just a heavy heart that Bilbo attends to the ; Top Thorin / Bottom Bilbo


**I'm almost caught up. Still need to do yesterday's and then today's...**

 **Cross-posted from AO3 same day.**

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Day 11: Sadism/Masochism | **Orgasm Denial** | Gags

One of the first things to come out of Erebor's relit forges was a small golden cage, crafted by the king himself. It was a beautiful thing… and Bilbo wore it with great shame, hidden beneath his breeches. He wanted no part of the cage, the one with a lock to which only Thorin held the key, but even he could not deny the king any of his demands, even though he greatly wished he could. But the dragon sickness was a poisonous thing, seeping deeper and deeper into the king's mind, negating the kinder thoughts of which he was once capable.

Ever since Thorin had clasped the delicate gold around Bilbo's soft cock, Bilbo's face flaming in embarrassment all the while, he found himself incapable of becoming hard. And still, Thorin summoned him to the throne room, almost daily, to partake of Bilbo as if nothing had changed within him. If Thorin was in a foul mood, he would undoubtedly call upon Bilbo, and judging by the grumbles of the dwarves passing him in the hallways, it was only a matter of time before a messenger found him. He was nearly to the throne room doors when the predictable messenger bolted down the hallway passed him only to stop and jog back to his side.

"King Thorin requests your presence, Master Bilbo," the young dwarf said, head ducked down, eyes not meeting Bilbo's. Bilbo nodded anyway.

All of Erebor knew that Bilbo was Thorin's consort, and he dearly wished they did not. If only so that they would not treat him so uncomfortably. For all the dwarves that were returning to the mountain, Bilbo was so, so lonely. Hobbits were a community people, and they thrived on good friends and joyful conversation. Here, he had none of that, not even with those he'd traveled with all the way from the Shire. He was closer with them, but they feared Thorin as the rest of his people did.

There were a pair of guards at the throne room doors and they pushed the heavy wood open to admit Bilbo. The room behind was empty save for its many pillars, its staired throne, and the king. Behind him, the doors shut with an ominous, reverberating _thud_ , and Bilbo was left to his king's mercy. What little there was left of it.

"Let me see it," Thorin called from the throne at the far end of the hall, his voice carrying easily to BIlbo. It always made Bilbo cringe, because he knew if Thorin's voice could carry so far so well, then surely his voice always did as well. Surely the guards knew why Bilbo was called to the throne room every day.

As he approached the throne, he played with the strings of his breeches, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could, but when he climbed the steps, he could not do so any longer. He pulled the ties and let the fabric fall to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down, save for the cage, to which Thorin's eyes immediately affixed.

"Beautiful," Thorin murmured, as if he was speaking to no one to himself. Bilbo was sure that he was, as Bilbo's own happiness seemed to be a waning interest to the king. Which is why he also knew that the dwarf's compliment was not meant for Bilbo, but for the craftsmanship of the small cage. "Come," he said, beckoning as he sat back in the throne, feet set a little apart and one hand propping his head on his elbow, the other resting on the throne.

Face burning, Bilbo approached him and carefully crawled into his lap, Thorin never once lifting a finger to help, never once moving at all except for the steady rhythm of his chest and the possessive sweeps of his eyes. The metal throne was hard against his knees, no furs placed down to ease his stay, as always. Bilbo would be limping away from this meeting for more than one reason, as always. Thorin's eyes, once they'd completed their scan, returned to his gift and remained there until the pain in his knees grew so strong that he had to shift. Only then did Thorin move, and it was only to pull a small flask from inside his coat and hold it out to Bilbo.

"Prepare yourself."

Hobbits are, ultimately, a hedonistic people, and such an act was not new to Bilbo, but having such a disinterested partner was. It made the shame in his chest and the heat in his face burn all the brighter as he reached behind himself with wet fingers and eased himself open. There was no doubt that he was dripping oil all over Thorin's breaches, but the dwarven king made no mention of it, and not a single muscle so much twitched at any droplet. He just sat there, cheek propped in his hand, and stared at Bilbo's cage.

In the beginning, such preparations had taken a great deal longer than they did now, but now his body was used to the near-daily couplings, even though Thorin's… girth was twice that of a hobbit's. Now, it seemed to barely take any time at all before he was pulling his fingers out of himself and fidgeting as he waited for his next order, even though he knew what it was. In the end, Thorin did not make him wait long before speaking again.

"Take me," he commanded.

There was a bolt of pain in BIlbo's chest as he untied Thorin's breeches and pulled out his stiff length, sliding his wet hand down the shaft to further ease the way. The way of their couplings these days bore no resemblance to the way Thorin used to make love to him, during their long journey. As Bilbo sunk down onto Thorin, he fervently _missed_ the way they used to be, the way _Thorin_ used to be. He wished desperately that there was a way to cure his lover of his sickness, but none of the dwarves would converse with Bilbo long enough to find an answer.

BIlbo couldn't contain the moan the burbled up from his chest as Thorin's thickness split him in half. It was so much to take, both in width and in length, and even though his body was used to receiving it, it still rent him in two every time. He had to be slow, to prevent injury, and by the time he came to a seat in Thorin's lap, he was breathing hard and his thighs were quivering. There was only a vague physical pleasure from the act right now, until he shifted just so and forge fire swept through him. He could feel his pulse beating against the bars of the cage, but as always, there was nothing he could about it.

"Continue," Thorin said suddenly, impatience thick in his voice and deepening the frown that never seemed to leave his face these days. Bilbo could only nod and tentatively set his hands on fur-lined shoulders, waiting for a reprimand that didn't come. This time.

Slowly, he began to move, rising up and down on his sore knees, gritting his teeth against the pain as he worked Thorin inside of him. There was no response from his king, no indication that Bilbo's work was appealing to him, but Bilbo knew better than to stop. He rolled and he rose and he rocked and he dropped, until he was sweating profusely and the fire that flared through him with every shift refused to fade and his pulse was a steady rhythm against unresisting gold like a hammer to an anvil. Still, Thorin's frown did not change, and it made that pain slash Bilbo's heart again, lamenting a relationship lost.

Pressure and pleasure built and coiled inside of Bilbo as he worked quicker and quicker, his body instinctively chasing that familiar sensation, even though he knew he wouldn't receive it at the end. He _wanted_ , but he also did not dare to hope. In the weeks, months, since he'd been caged, he could count on one hand the number of times Thorin had produced a matching gold key and allowed him release. Still, Bilbo couldn't help but beg anyway because hope was a dangerous thing, a bewitched butterfly in his chest.

"Please, Thorin," Bilbo gasped, fingers tightening in the fur of the king's cloak. "Please, Thorin, please unlock me."

Slowly, Thorin's eyes rose from his cage to Bilbo's face, and Bilbo couldn't be sure if it was the look in his eyes or the sweat gathering on his skin that made his knee slide on the metal throne. It made him grunt in surprise, and just a little pain, as Thorin's thick length was forced even deeper inside of him. He couldn't stop though, no matter how badly he shook, no matter the look Thorin leveled at him.

"Is that how you address your king?" Thorin said slowly, the warning in his eyes reflected in his tone. The pain in his chest grew deeper, the rift in his heart widening. Bilbo bowed his head in deference, but didn't stop moving. He hadn't been given leave to, after all.

"I beg your pardon, Majesty," he mumbled, feeling tears sting his eyes. He couldn't let them fall though, not here. Thorin did not look kindly on his tears, did not wish to see them, so Bilbo would hide them. "Would it please Your Majesty to grant a subject release?" The words tore at his throat, like he had swallowed a thorny bush and now was tearing it back out; Thorin used to abhor formality, and now he punished those who did not use it.

"Not today," Thorin said after a moment, crushing the last of Bilbo's hope. He strongly suspected that he would never be freed ever again, and yet he also knew that despite that, that same hope would bloom bright and strong in his chest, just so it could be crushed anew.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Bilbo said, and threw all his effort into quickening Thorin's release. The sooner he could finish off his once-lover, the sooner he could escape to the libraries to lose himself in times not-now.

Thorin returned to watching him, one hand on the arm of the throne, the other under his chin. If he wasn't hard within him, Bilbo would have doubted that Thorin was aroused at all. The only change in him was a slow tightening of the skin between his eyes and a loosening to his pursed lips. Bilbo's own arousal was like molten gold in his veins and he only wished it would melt the cage keeping from reaching physical satisfaction. But that was as out of reach as emotional satisfaction, the two tied together and kept under lock in key against the chest of the King Under the Mountain.

There was only a flutter of Thorin's eyelids to indicate the approach of his release, and then a long moment where they closed completely. Bilbo slowed his hips, working the last of his king's release from him, before a hand landed on his thigh, stilling him. His pants echoed around him as he settled down on Thorin's thighs, Thorin's hand a too-warm weight on his bare skin.

It was a long moment before Thorin opened his eyes again, though not nearly enough time for Bilbo's heart to calm. When he did, though, his gaze fixed on Bilbo and it was as if he didn't even recognize who was before him. The blankness in those eyes made Bilbo want to cry.

"You are excused," the king said, and Bilbo's heart broke all over again at the too-familiar words. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears from falling, and bowed his head.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He stayed only long enough to don and tie his breeches again, and then he walked out of the throne room, leaving the king to his solitude and his sickness. As the guards shut the door behind him, Thorin's release began sliding down the backs of his legs.

FIN

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 **Man, when I check into a new fandom, I don't fuck around…**

 **Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, tagged/Heart-of-Gold).**


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